I sent Kassem off on a few errands this morning not long before two bombs went
off in Bir Hassan. One of the things Kassem was to do was buy me some
vegetables, and the roadside market he goes to is in Bir Hassan.
After M called and told me about the bombs I tried calling Kassem. The line was
busy, as expected. Whenever there is a bomb here the mobile networks get
overloaded and don’t function. It’s one of the many reassuring things about
Lebanon. Another reassuring thing about Lebanon is that you find yourself
writing sentences that begin with: “Whenever there is a bomb here...”
I wasn’t exactly chewing my fingernails off with worry for Kassem because the
bombs weren’t on the same street as the vegetable market but still, they were
pretty close. Then I remembered that text messages seem to get through even
when the mobile network is clogged so I sent Kassem a few words in phonetic
Arabic: “Kassem, are you all right?”
About five minutes later my landline rang from an unknown number. “Hi Madam,”
said a familiar, cheery voice.
“Oh, you’re fine!” I burst out, rather more loudly than strictly necessary. “I
was worried about you.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Kassem chuckled. “I’m calling from the grocery story by the
dry-cleaner’s. There are other people waiting to use the phone so I won’t stay
on the line but I saw your note and wanted to let you know that I was okay. I’m
on my way back to the house.”
When he rang the doorbell ten minutes later and swept in carrying bags of green
peppers, cauliflower and clementines, he was in his usual good spirits.
“I found you some grapes,” he said proudly, dumping the bags down on the
kitchen table and opening one to reveal about five pounds of pale green
grapes. “It’s the end of the season but I managed to find these.”
“Great, thank you,” I said, and I meant it. The grapes looked delicious. “But
Kassem, what about the bombs? Were you anywhere near the area when they went
off?”
“No, no,” he said off-handedly and without apparent interest in the topic. “You
mentioned you had a light bulb you wanted me to find a replacement for?”
This was incredible. And yet, it was not.
“Do you want to use the house phone to call your wife?” I asked. “She might be
worried about you.”
He laughed at the very idea. “No, she won’t be worried.”
“Well, okay,” I said, a trifle nonplussed. “Uh, I guess that’s everything for
the moment then.”
We made our way toward the door. As I opened it to let Kassem go out he paused
and turned to me, suddenly looking grave.
And do you know what he said then? Please bear in mind that this is a man who
lost his parents during the civil war when their building was destroyed by an
Israeli air strike. He is also a man who never stops talking about his
grandchildren, who constantly shows me their pictures and tells me what this
one said on the weekend, or how that one is the best reader in his kindergarten
class. He is full of love and compassion.
From the living room a voice on the tv could be heard saying, “It is a scene
of horrific carnage here and the number of known dead is expected to
rise...”
Kassem shook his head in a sorrowful way and said, “Do you know what happened,
Madam? Our fridge died last night and we’re going to have to buy a new one.
It’ll be six hundred dollars at least.”